


tell me, tell me, tell me i am the only one

by ericdire (aarobron)



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Not A Happy Ending, Post-Break Up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:00:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27540412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aarobron/pseuds/ericdire
Summary: "Jordan?" A voice asks, and it's not one he came here with. It's familiar but not enough he can place it, and the thick accent kind of makes him feel like he's coming home but it's ridiculous because he doesn't even know who it is, but then he turns and --It all hits him like a tonne of bricks."Virgil!" He manages to get out, despite the squeezing in his chest. His jaw is a little bit on the floor but it's fine, he can pick it up and carry on, because Virgil is grinning wide and bright at him.Virgil pulls him in for a hug, hands big and hot on Jordan's back. It’s been a long time since he felt those hands on his body, and it still makes him shiver.
Relationships: Jordan Henderson/Original Male Character(s) (Background), Virgil van Dijk/Jordan Henderson
Comments: 3
Kudos: 19





	tell me, tell me, tell me i am the only one

**Author's Note:**

> hi!! this is kind of sad but also sexy and happy in a nostalgic way. the ending isn't great, of course, but i have left it open to the further possibility of fics set in this verse 👀
> 
> kudos and comments appreciated as always.
> 
> thank you for reading xx

When Jordan agrees to go out, there's a prickly, uncomfortable feeling creeping up his spine.

But at the same time, that feeling is the exact reason he agrees to go.

He's not sure what it is - longing, maybe. The feeling you get when you're away from someone you love for too long. Will's been gone for three days and still won't be back for another four, and the hurt really is starting to creep in now. Jordan never realised how lonely he could actually get, and he always thought he was good at being by himself.

They call, of course. But phone calls and text messages and FaceTime doesn't live up to the real thing, to Will's arms around him and the warmth of his skin and the way he makes Jordan feel when he kisses him good morning. 

That's why he's going out, though. To take his mind off it. 

He sends a quick, silly selfie to Will before he leaves. He's not sure why - maybe because he wants him to know that he's thinking about him. Or maybe, just maybe, he wants someone to tell him he looks good.

What he gets in return is the latter.

Will replies, says, _😍 you look gorgeous babe. Wish I was coming with you - love you loads, have a good night. Call me when you wake up, if you're not too hungover! 💕_

Jordan smiles, and tells Will he loves him too.

Nobody's ever quite made him feel the way Will does. 

(Or - at least, that's just what he tells himself).

He puts that thought right out of his head and sprays on his best cologne. He can hear his mother's voice, somewhere deep in the back of his head, asking who he's trying to impress, but he buries that too and reminds himself that he's _happy_. He can live with Will going away every so often with work if it means he gets to live in the happiest of homes when he's back.

He loves Will. That's why he agreed to marry him. 

Still - one night out isn't going to hurt. Like the old times, when he had nothing to worry about. No responsibilities, no fears. Nothing to lose. 

He's actually looking forward to it.

.

He's surprised to find that he's actually enjoying the night so far. They've only been out for an hour or so, in some little hipster bar that only opened a few weeks ago. Despite how pretentious the place looks like from the outside, the vibe is actually quite nice - and the music is decent.

Even James is taking the jokes about his pint of ribena with an easy smile. It's good, all of it is good, and Jordan is well on his way to being tipsy - just the way he likes it. He's in the mood to let his hair down, and he's not going to do that with an empty glass. Andy offers to pay for this round, but Jordan waves him off.

It's his fault they're here - something about his incessant lonely sulking, according to James - so he's going to be buying the drinks.

Well… some of them, at least.

He takes everyone's order on the notes on his phone and heads up to the bar, frowning down at the list. Adam wants a- a _chardonnay_ , and Trent has asked for a triple vodka and Red Bull. Jesus. It’s anyone's guess how this night is going to turn out. 

He reads the list out to the barman without looking up, and cringes when he tells him the price. Okay, the vibe is nice, but it’s not fifty quid for seven drinks nice. He is definitely going to work on his case about going elsewhere after this round.

"Jordan?" A voice asks, and it's not one he came with. It's familiar but not enough he can place it, and the thick accent kind of makes him feel like he's coming home but it's ridiculous because he doesn't even know who it is, but then he turns and -- 

It all hits him like a tonne of bricks.

"Virgil!" He manages to get out, despite the squeezing in his chest. His jaw is a little bit on the floor but it's fine, he can pick it up and carry on, because Virgil is grinning wide and bright at him.

Virgil pulls him in for a hug, hands big and hot on Jordan's back. It’s been a long time since he felt those hands on his body, and it still makes him shiver. Either way - he pushes the feeling away and wraps his arms around Virgil's waist. It’s nice. He smells good, and the contours of his body feel incredible against Jordan's. 

(That must be the loneliness speaking. It's the only explanation).

"God, it's been ages," Virgil says, pulling away but only far enough to put a hand on Jordan's shoulder. He's still grinning, and his eyes don't leave Jordan's face once. "How have you been?"

"Good. Everything's been good," Jordan says. He shakes his head like it's going to reveal that Virgil standing in front of him is a mirage, but he's still there and solid and warm so he must be real. "I didn't know you'd moved! When? Why?"

"My company relocated their headquarters - typical, isn't it?" Virgil says, rolling his eyes playfully like the distance isn't the thing that ruined their relationship isn't it. "I've been here about four months now. I can see why you were so dead set on moving here when you got offered that job, it's a beautiful city. Are you still working there?"

"No, they treated me like shit so I jumped ship and went to their biggest rivals," Jordan says, smirking slightly. "They went bankrupt and I've had three promotions."

Virgil laughs, bright and like music to Jordan's ears. He never realised how much he needed to hear that laugh again. 

"Well, I can already tell you haven't changed," he says, reaching out and pinching Jordan's side gently. "I never did like to get on the wrong side of you."

Jordan bristles. He's not sure what that's supposed to mean.

"So how's your life outside of work, then?" Virgil asks, completely oblivious. He turns for a moment and says something to the barman, but then his full attention is back on Jordan. He hasn't stopped smiling once. "Are you here on a date, or…?"

"Oh, no, I'm with friends," Jordan says. Virgil looks visibly relieved - but he might just be imagining that. "I am engaged, though. My partner is away on business."

"Engaged?" Virgil says. He doesn't seem surprised. Sad, maybe, but not surprised. "I'm happy for you. I'm glad you ended up with someone who deserves you."

"You did," Jordan says fiercely, shocking himself. He's not sure where that came from, but he can't bring himself to care. He throws his arms around Virgil’s neck and hugs him tight. "You deserved me."

"I missed you so much," Virgil whispers, private and right in Jordan's ear. He squeezes like he's never going to let him go, hands linked on the small of his back, and honestly, Jordan can't bring himself to complain.

But then James appears at Jordan's side and clears his throat pointedly. The moment is over.

"Well, it was good to see you," Jordan says, pulling back from the hug. He takes Virgil's hand and squeezes kindly. He's overly aware of James' eyes on the side of his face, and he fucking hates it. "Take care of yourself, alright?"

"You too, J," Virgil says. He looks carefully at Jordan for a moment, and then he turns and disappears.

There's a stretched out, awkward silence that Jordan is _not_ going to break first, and James is too busy inspecting Jordan's cheek intently. 

"Adam asked me to find out why his wine was taking so long," James says, strangely alert. "He was asking if you were crushing the grapes yourself."

"Well, I'm coming back now," Jordan says, picking up the tray that the barman was kind enough to put all the drinks on. He doesn't even spare a glance at James, because he's scared about what he might see written all over the other man's face. "So you can stop breathing down my neck."

"I'm not breathing down your neck," James says, whilst breathing down Jordan's neck. "Who was that, then?"

"Just an old friend," Jordan says dismissively. He places the tray of drinks back on their table and smiles at the sarcastic little cheer he gets in return, settling into his quiet corner with James squished in next to him. He’s not sure why they're at a table for three (maximum) when there's seven of them.

"Looked like a bit more than that to me," James says in that awful, know it all voice of his. "Old boyfriend, perhaps?"

Jordan doesn't say a word.

"So I'm right," James says, nodding to himself. Nobody else is paying attention to them, which is just the way Jordan likes it. He takes a long sip of drinks and wishes he'd ordered something stronger. "Seemed intense."

"I thought he was the one," Jordan says conversationally. If he acts like it doesn't matter, it might start to actually feel like it. "Until he had sex with someone else."

"He _what_?" James spits. He sounds incredibly pissed off, and Jordan remembers just how protective his best friend gets over him sometimes. It's sweet - although he can look after himself. He likes that he has the option to hand off his responsibilities every so often. He's never actually done it, but it’s still nice to know he can. "He cheated on you?"

"It wasn't like that," Jordan says, shaking his head sadly. "He didn't cheat. It took a lot of soul searching for me to realise that."

"Well, he had sex with someone else while he was in a relationship with you," James says. He sounds somewhere between bored and pissed off now. Jordan just feels tired. "I'd say that looks an awful lot like cheating, wouldn't you?"

"I don't want to talk about this, James," Jordan says, picking up his drink and taking a sip just so he doesn't have to speak. "Not tonight. I'm out to enjoy myself, not dwell on the past."

That, at least, shuts him up.

.

Jordan expects not to see Virgil again. He's happy with the brief flash of a moment he got - at least he knows Virgil is happy and healthy and safe - so he doesn't need anything else. That split second of a memory is enough to last him another five years.

But, of course, when they finally shuffle out of the hipster bar and into the queue for the club next door, he bumps into Virgil again.

"Hey, stranger!" Virgil says. When he turns and notices Jordan behind him, his face lights up, so he's definitely considerably drunker than he was ninety minutes ago. He wraps his arm around Jordan's shoulders and brings him in for a tight side hug. "Twice in one night? Aren't I a lucky boy!"

"Must be fate," Jordan mumbles distantly, because he is also considerably drunker. There's a commotion behind them, and Jordan turns to look over his shoulder without pulling away from the embrace. "Oh, is Joe out with you?"

"You know Joe?" Virgil asks, drunkenly delighted.

"Yeah, and now I know why he said he wasn't coming out with us tonight," Jordan says. He's absolutely, definitely pouting, and Virgil tickles his side until he grins. He still doesn't pull away. "How do you know him?" 

"We work in the same office," Virgil says, swaying a little bit on the spot. Jordan puts an arm around his waist to steady him - nothing else. "He's lovely, isn't he?"

"He's the best," Jordan says, trying not to think about the fact they've been so close for so long and neither of them knew about it.

He looks over his shoulder again and smiles at all their friends mingling.

Looks like their group has grown significantly.

.

"D'you want a drink? I'm buying," Virgil says, and pinches Jordan's hip before he can make a joke. He's leaning close to Jordan's ear so he can be heard over the music, and it sends shivers down his spine. "Vodka and lemonade still?" 

"Of course," Jordan says, leaning into Virgil's side.

"I'm so glad you haven't changed," Virgil says. He's grinning and he taps the underneath of Jordan's chin with his index finger. "Come on, you can come to the bar with me."

Jordan follows like a lost little puppy and tries not to think about the fact that that's what most of their five year relationship was. He's still half convinced that Virgil didn't feel anything even half as strong as he did, but it doesn't matter anymore. It's over, and they've both moved on.

He's still thinking about that when Virgil pushes his drink into his hand, and a shot into the other. He grins at Jordan's questioning face and sticks his tongue out.

"Tequila!" He shouts.

"Are you trying to get me drunk?" Jordan asks. He can't stop the lopsided smile from spreading across his face.

"I don't think you need help with that, J," Virgil says, smirking a little bit. He wraps his fingers around Jordan's wrist and lifts his hand to his mouth. "Drink up, come on."

.

Over the course of the night, Jordan loses Virgil. He's not sure where he's gone but it fucking sucks, because he feels lonely. He misses Virgil's cheeky comments and his lovely smile. He tries not to show it, of course, but James can still sense it.

Still. If Jordan ignores him, then he doesn't have to answer any awkward questions.

He bums a smoke off of Adam and disappears into the beer garden to sulk for ten minutes. The fresh air feels nice on his heated skin and it's fairly empty outside, so he rests against the wall and closes his eyes, flicking his thumb over the lighter in his hand. 

"I didn't know you still smoked," Virgil says, appearing out of nowhere. His eyes glow orange when Jordan sparks up the lighter and lights the cigarette. 

"I don't," Jordan says, taking a long drag of the cigarette. "Unless I'm drunk."

"Me neither," Virgil says. His eyes sparkle as he plucks the cigarette from between Jordan's fingers and inhales. "Unless I'm drunk."

He watches the way Virgil's mouth wraps around the cigarette and curls his fingers into fists, nails digging marks into his palms. Jordan knows what that mouth can do, remembers how good it makes him feel - god, he wants to feel it again. He watches, eyes half lidded and heart pounding in his chest.

"You never could resist a man that smokes," Virgil hums quietly, pushing closer. The hand that's holding the cigarette drops to his side. 

"Not Adam," Jordan says, shaking his head. He knows that's what Virgil is asking.

"No?" Virgil asks, bringing the cigarette back to his mouth. Jordan watches, transfixed to silence, as he takes two drags. 

"No. He's not my type," Jordan says. His voice is low.

"What is your type?" Virgil asks. His free hand brushes against Jordan’s hip, and Jordan has a feeling that it's not an accident.

"Tall. Dark - handsome," Jordan murmurs, jutting his chin. Virgil's nose brushes against his jaw, but he didn't realise he was so close. "A nice smile. Big, strong hands. I like an accent - a strong one. A man who knows what I want… and won't be afraid to give it to me. Someone who makes me feel good, and looks after me when I'm coming down."

"Shit," Virgil hisses in disbelief. He drops the cigarette and steps on it, and then wraps both hands around Jordan's waist and pulls him in close. Their noses brush, and Jordan leans in, heart pounding…

"Have you got my lighter, Jordan?" Adam asks, stomping his way outside. 

Jordan springs back like he's been burnt.

"Here," Virgil says, snatching it out of Jordan's hand and holding it out to Adam in one smooth movement. He looks completely, entirely unbothered about the fact they just almost kissed (and got caught), but Jordan can't stop staring at him, cheeks red and the fear of being caught filling up his mouth.

Adam hasn't noticed a thing. He starts chatting about something that Jordan can't quite follow and Virgil pretends to be interested in, but his voice just drones on and on and on. Virgil's eyes don't stray from Adam's face, but he shifts closer to Jordan, until their arms are brushing and body heat and the smell of Virgil's aftershave is flooding Jordan's senses.

Virgil stretches a hand out, hidden behind their bodies, and tangles their fingers together.

He's so glad that Adam can't seem to see through the wine drunk haze that's fogging up his vision, because he can't take his eyes off of Virgil. He's completely, entirely caught by the lines of his face and his red bitten lips. He wants. He _wants_ and he knows that he shouldn't but he does. He knows he's going to get Virgil, too. There's no doubt in his mind.

"Are you done smoking? Why are we all standing here, then?" Adam asks, like him and his incessant chattering are not the reason they're all still outside. He turns and slips inside, and Jordan lets Virgil drag him along. 

When they're back with the group, Virgil gives him one long, intense look, and then disappears in the directions of the toilets. Jordan knows what he means, so he waits for a one beat, two, ten, and then excuses himself.

Virgil is waiting for him by the sinks, back towards the mirrors and eyes dark. He smiles though, when he sees Jordan, like he didn't dare let himself believe that he'd follow until he actually did.

Thankfully, the toilets are empty.

"Hi," Virgil says quietly, smile turning soft at the corners and the lines around his eyes crinkling. Jordan thought he was over this, but he never, ever could be. There are some things you just can't get over.

Jordan reaches out and takes Virgil's hand again, pulling him into an empty cubicle and closes the door behind them. He locks it with a satisfying click and looks up at Virgil, his bright eyes and his pink mouth.

It's finally happening.

"I'm not going to kiss you," Virgil whispers, eyes not straying from Jordan's face.

"What?" Jordan asks, hurt. He'd pull away if Virgil didn't have him trapped against the plastic divider.

"I'm not going to kiss you," Virgil repeats, but something clicks in Jordan's mind. He understands now. Virgil is letting him make the first move, and he's strangely touched by it.

He curls his arms around Virgil's shoulders and then pauses to look at him, taking in the lines of his face, the colour of his eyes, the scattering of freckles across his nose. All these things he's forgotten about over the past five years, and now they're right here in front of him again. He feels like the luckiest man in the world.

He's not thinking about it when he stretches up onto his tiptoes. It’s automatic when he brushes their noses together. It's thoughtless when he finally closes the gap, but it's probably the best non-decision he's ever made. 

The kiss isn't what he was expecting. He had half an image of Virgil shoving him back against the wall, knee between his thighs and taking what he wants with harsh teeth and a rough tongue, but it's not like that at all. Instead, Virgil puts a careful hand on his cheek and kisses him slowly, softly. Gentle, like they've got all the time in the world. Warm, like they've come home at last.

In a matter of seconds, Jordan is transported back to hundreds of places he'll remember for all his life.

In the uni halls, pressed up against the kitchen worktop.

In an empty classroom, when they had a spare half an hour between lectures.

On a nightclub dance floor, vodka pulsing through their veins and lights making their skin shine red and blue.

In Jordan's childhood bedroom, tucked under the covers like they're trying to hide from all the bad things in the world.

At the train station, suitcase discarded to the side while they pretend it's not the last time.

These are the places he'll never forget.

.

Jordan feels giddy when he makes his excuses and disappears. It's wrong, but it feels exciting. He knows that Virgil is waiting for him outside, and he knows they're going home together. It's not the first time, but it'll probably be the last.

He tells the boys that he can feel a migraine coming on and ignores James pointedly mentioning that Virgil seems to have disappeared, kissing his cheek and whispering, _don't you fucking dare say anything_ as he gives him a quick hug goodbye. James gets the hint and backs down, but tells Jordan that he hopes he knows what he's doing.

That's laughable. He hasn't got a fucking clue.

He finds Virgil waiting by a taxi, polystyrene box in one hand and a can of Fanta in the other. Jordan smiles and takes the drink, ducking his head when Virgil opens the taxi door for him.

"Got your favourite," Virgil says, when they’re settled in the taxi and pulling away from the town centre. He looks down at Jordan pressed to his side and kisses the crown of his head. "Chicken nuggets, cheesy chips, garlic mayo and a can of Fanta."

"Can't end a night out without chicken nuggets," Jordan agrees, resting his head on Virgil's shoulder. He's tired in a content kind of way but he's also never felt so wired in his life. He's overly aware of Virgil's presence next to him (and basking in it). "Can't believe you remembered."

"How could I forget?" Virgil says, smirking slightly. "You made me buy you the same thing every time we went out, and we went out a lot in the five years we were together."

"Four," Jordan says distantly. "We were together for four years."

"Sorry," Virgil whispers. He swallows like he's uncomfortable. "Didn't realise you don't count the last year."

Jordan closes his eyes and tries not to think about it. This is the first time all night that he's leaning towards this being a bad idea.

"I do. I do count it," Jordan says, nestling further into Virgil's neck. The younger man puts an arm around his shoulders and pulls him in close, and Jordan has never, ever felt safer. "But I hate thinking about it. It wasn't good, was it? For either of us. We were in a bad place."

"I know," Virgil whispers. "I still loved you, though."

"I loved you too," Jordan says, blinking slowly. The past tense is not lost on him. He wonders if it's true, or if Virgil still feels it.

They lapse into silence for the rest of the journey, but it's a comfortable one. Jordan's happy enough to watch the orange of the streetlights pass over Virgil's body every so often, highlighting the length of his fingers and the bumps of his knuckles. It strikes him that he's happier than he's been in a long, long time. 

He shouldn't feel like that.

Before he has time to dwell on it, the cab has pulled up in front of his house. Jordan gets out first, concentrates on unlocking the door (and trying to stop himself from swaying on the spot) while Virgil pays the driver. He wonders if any neighbours can see him going into his house with someone that isn't his fiance.

_Good_ , he thinks viciously. _Let them. Let them know that nobody else gets to have Virgil_.

Virgil wanders around the house while Jordan goes to the kitchen and gets two beers out of the fridge. He's suddenly embarrassed by the photos of Will on the walls, and he wants to tear them down, but Virgil only barely glances at them. He lingers over the ones of Jordan with his friends, though.

"I'm glad you've got a good support network here," he says suddenly. "Your friends seem lovely."

"They are," Jordan confirms, nodding. He hands a bottle of beer over to Virgil, watching the way their fingers brush. "James is good to me."

"He knows, doesn't he?" Virgil asks, looking up. His stare is hard, but not cruel. Jordan's not sure when he stopped being able to read Virgil, but he does know that he doesn't like it.

"Yeah," Jordan confesses. There's no point pretending otherwise. "But he won't say anything. I vouch for him."

Virgil nods slowly.

"Good. I don't want this getting back to my girlfriend," he says.

"Girlfriend?" Jordan asks, eyebrows shooting up to meet his hairline. He can't control it. "You never mentioned a girlfriend."

"You can't be mad at me," Virgil says slowly, carefully. He's treating Jordan like a ticking time bomb, and it's offensive. "I'm not the one that's engaged."

"I'm not. I'm not mad," Jordan says, deflating a little bit. He doesn't want Virgil to have to walk on eggshells around him. They've never, ever been like that. "I'm just- surprised, that's all. I mean, I shouldn't be, because you're gorgeous so there's no way you'd be single, but… You never mentioned her. That's all."

"It's not… It's not like you and yours. It's not serious, and if I'm being honest, I can't see it going anywhere," Virgil says. He looks like he's struggling, like this is the first time he's admitted it out loud. "But she's nice. She has a kind heart. And she's one of Tamara's friends so this could easily get back to her, and she doesn't deserve that. She doesn't deserve to find out like that."

"I understand," Jordan says softly, stepping forward. He brushes the tips of his fingers over Virgil's knuckles and looks up at him, silently asking for a kiss. Virgil smiles, cheeks red, and obliges.

It's still as soft as it was earlier. The backs of Virgil's fingers brush against his jaw and he hums, quiet and sweet, into Jordan's mouth, one hand on the small of his back to pull him closer. Jordan wants this moment to last forever, but he's not sure how to ask for that. 

Virgil deepens the kiss, tongue sliding intently against Jordan's. He kisses the way he always used to: forceful, harsh, taking what he wants. Jordan has always been more than willing to give him it. 

"Missed you so much," Virgil whispers, pulling away with a gasp.

Jordan grins, pressing his body against Virgil's. This only ever happened in his dreams, but god, he's so glad he's getting to experience it again. 

"Let me take you to bed," Virgil murmurs. Jordan covers Virgil's hand with his own, sliding it down his side and over his hip, before curving it around his arse. He squeezes the muscle tight, blunt fingernails digging into the skin painfully. It only turns Jordan on even more.

He tangles their fingers together and pulls away from the embrace, as painful as it is, but leads Virgil upstairs. He’s a little nervous about taking Virgil up to his bedroom – the one place that really, properly, defines who he is as a person – because it’s so private, but he also _wants_ him to see it. Sometimes, it’s tough to remember that Virgil doesn’t know everything about him anymore. 

It’s quiet, full of anticipation. Virgil seems nervous too, energy buzzing under his skin, but he steps through the door and looks around in wonder. There’s no pictures of Jordan and Will on the bedside table – he put one there once and took it down five minutes later.

Will has never quite fit in this house.

“This is almost a carbon copy of our old room,” Virgil smirks, rubbing Jordan’s hip. He tucks him in close for a hug, but Jordan can tell he’s still looking around. “Still a neat freak, aren’t you?”

“I just like things to have order,” Jordan pouts, punching Virgil gently in the ribs. He pulls away but hooks his hands around Virgil’s neck, stretching up on his tiptoes to kiss him, short and sweet. “Are you done slagging me off? Or am I going to have to sort myself out?” 

“Done slagging you off,” Virgil says quickly, beaming brightly. His hands settle on Jordan’s hips and he tips his head forward to kiss him, slow and deep, making the older man’s toes curl against the carpet. It feels as good as he remembers. He never forgot.

Jordan pulls away with a gasp but presses his forehead against Virgil’s, opening his eyes just to see the dark splay of Virgil’s lashes against his cheeks. He’s never seen anything as beautiful as this in his entire life. 

“Fuck me,” he whispers, and revels in the way Virgil’s breath stutters.

Virgil is incredibly gentle when he lays Jordan back against the bed. He brushes his fingers against the older man’s cheek, kisses him, lips sliding down his throat. Rucks his t-shirt up under his armpits and presses his palm flat against his stomach, and doesn’t shake when he flicks the button on his jeans open. Jordan doesn’t know how –– he’s been trembling since Virgil kissed him.

He never thought he’d be here again. Naked, spread out for Virgil to take. He thought about it, dreamt of it, even _begged_ for it, to anyone who would listen – but the reality is so much better.

The reality is the warmth of Virgil’s skin. The way his fingers feel when he stretches Jordan open. His mouth, and his tongue, biting bruises into Jordan’s neck, and the way he makes Jordan gasp when the head of his dick presses against his prostate.

It doesn’t last long. Jordan would be embarrassed about it except for the fact that he knows this isn’t the end – he doesn’t know how long Virgil is staying, but when he turns his head and looks at him, all he feels is pure, unadulterated _want_. 

Need, even. Something desperate, primal, that he can’t put a name to.

They haven’t invented words for the things that Virgil makes Jordan feel just yet.

"You forgot about your nuggets," Virgil says mildly, rubbing soothing circles on Jordan's bare stomach and looking at him intently. "They'll be cold by now."

"I'll go warm them up," Jordan says, peering up at Virgil. He doesn't move, though - his legs still feel like jelly.

Virgil waits, patient as ever and eyebrows raised, but when he realises Jordan isn't moving he huffs, pinching the bare skin of his thigh (albeit gently, and then he rubs the spot with his palm straight after).

"I'll go, then," he grumbles, but he doesn't seem to mind too much.

Jordan settles under the duvet while Virgil disappears, but he can't seem to turn his mind off. The only thoughts running through his head are the ones alerting him of the fact Virgil is walking around his house, using his microwave, completely _entirely_ naked, like he belongs here.

And there is nothing in Jordan's entire make up that's telling him he _doesn't_.

Traitorously, a little voice in the back of his head is telling him that Will has never felt like he belongs in this house, but he pushes that thought away.

"Here," Virgil says, pushing back into the bedroom. To be honest, Jordan was so lost in thought that he didn't even hear Virgil coming up the stairs. He drags himself upright and takes the food. "I put it on a plate so you don't burn yourself, and I know you hate plastic cutlery so I got you a fork."

"You are good to me," Jordan says, cheeks red and smile aimed down at the polystyrene box lid. He watches out of the corner of his eye as Virgil settles down again, laying so close to Jordan that the heat of his skin is radiating from him.

"Not only out of kindness, though," Virgil says, holding his hand out. "I want chips for tax."

"Oh, there he is," Jordan says dramatically, but he does open the tray and hold a chip to Virgil's mouth. "The selfish man I really know and lo--"

He cuts himself off, and swallows, staring down at the sheets bunched under his leg.

Virgil doesn't say anything. He keeps his gaze, carefully guarded, on Jordan's face and presses his mouth into a thin line. The only tell that Jordan notices is Virgil's fingers curling into the sheets, sending a ripple of wrinkles across the mattress. 

He gives up pretending everything's fine.

"Do you ever think about us?" He asks, biting a chicken nugget. "About why it ended?"

"Every day," Virgil answers honestly.

Jordan blinks, stares down at his knuckles. He wasn't quite expecting that and it's taken him completely off guard, but he focuses on chewing a mouth full of food and tries again.

"I'm sorry," he says carefully. "For what I did."

Virgil frowns, cocks his head. "You didn't do anything, Jordan," he says.

"I did. I left you when I should've been there," Jordan says, picking through his words slowly. There's a lump in his throat and it's too big to swallow down. "At the end."

"You did what anyone else would have done, Jord," Virgil says. His frown deepens and Jordan wants to smooth it out, but he doesn't know if he's allowed to. "I cheated on you."

"Is that what you think it was?" Jordan asks. He's the one that feels like he's walking on eggshells now, but there's no other way to go about this. He has to be delicate. It's a fragile subject. "Do you really think you cheated on me?"

"I fucked someone else - what else are you going to call it?" Virgil snaps. He's only getting irritated because he's uncomfortable.

"I'd call it assault," Jordan says quietly. "Based on the fact you were too drunk to consent. You didn't remember a thing about it the next morning."

Virgil goes red from the collarbones up, and his eyes are glinting with tears. Jordan's not sure whether that's a good reaction or a bad one.

"I've been- I was asking myself that for years," he whispers, wiping his eyes roughly. "Do you really think it was… that?" 

"Only you know that," Jordan says softly, reaching out and squeezing Virgil's hand. "Because only you know your intent."

He's silent for a moment. Jordan holds his breath.

"I never would've done it," Virgil says quietly. "If I - if I was _aware_ , I never would have slept with anyone. I never looked at anyone but you. I didn't need anyone else. You were it for me."

"Then you've got your answer," Jordan says softly. He reaches over and wipes a stray tear from Virgil's cheek, shoving the plate on his bedside table and shuffling down until he's laying next to Virgil. He wraps his arms around the younger man tight, pressing a kiss to his head when he shuffles in close.

Virgil doesn't say anything for a long, long time, but his wet eyelashes are brushing against the skin of Jordan's throat every time he blinks. Jordan doesn't know if he's allowed to speak, doesn't know what to _say_ if he is allowed. He hates that Virgil is hurting. He hates that he played a part in it.

"I'm sorry I left you instead of being there for you," he says suddenly, carding his fingers through Virgil's hair. The younger man moves his head slightly, the only indication that he's listening, but his cheek stays on Jordan's chest. "If I could do it all again, I'd help you. Talk to you about it. Figure out what happened together. We could go talk to someone about it. If I could do it again, I'd never leave you."

"If I could do it all again, I wouldn't go to that stupid fucking party in the first place," Virgil says fiercely.

"I know," Jordan says soothingly. He doesn't stop his hand from stroking through Virgil's hair. "I know, baby."

He can't say anything more than that. 

The sunlight is starting to stream in through the curtains and they still haven't slept, but it feels right, laying in his bed with Virgil.

It feels like he's finally come home after five long, long years.

He sleeps better than he has for longer than he cares to admit.

.

Virgil is already awake when Jordan opens his eyes. He's watching him but he's not embarrassed about being caught - instead, he smiles, bringing a hand up to card through his hair.

"Hi," Jordan whispers. Virgil brings him in for a kiss, long fingers spread over his cheek to keep him in place. It feels amazing. It feels like everything Jordan never thought he'd have before. 

"Hello, you," Virgil hums, pulling away from the kiss. His eyes are bright and his cheeks are stained pink, and it hits Jordan right then, square in the chest, that he's still in love with Virgil. He never fell out of love. He couldn't possibly fall out of love with someone as captivating as this. "Sleep well?"

"Perfect," Jordan whispers, biting his bottom lip. His eyes track all over Virgil's face - the creases on his cheek from the pillow, his red mouth, his sleepy blinks - and sighs, content. "Do you want breakfast?"

"I would love breakfast," Virgil says seriously, rolling onto his back. Jordan gets the hint and drags himself out of bed, pulling on a pair of boxers. "I miss your breakfasts."

Virgil pulls him back for a kiss before he can leave, dirty and desperate, but his stomach rumbles before it can go any further. Jordan smiles against his mouth and pulls away for good.

"Be back soon," he promises.

He can't take his mind off of Virgil when he's cooking. He somehow manages to convince himself that this is all completely, entirely normal - he's cooking breakfast for his boyfriend in their house on an average Saturday morning, and he has nothing else to worry about. Nothing but Virgil, naked and waiting, upstairs in their bed. The best way to his heart is through his stomach, after all, and, well. Frankly, Jordan is after something a little more than his heart. 

He balances both plates and tucks a carton of orange juice under his arm as he navigates back up the stairs. Virgil is sat up in bed, sheets pooled around his waist as he scrolls down his phone, but as soon as he sees Jordan he perks up and tosses his phone to the side.

"Smells good," he says, humming appreciatively. He takes the plate and the orange juice and smiles when Jordan leans over to give him a quick peck. "No beans?"

"No, uh - Will doesn't like them, so I don't ever buy them," Jordan says, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly.

"But you love beans," Virgil says. 

"I know, but - it's like. A phobia, I guess? He proper freaks out over them, so…" He says, trailing off. Virgil is trying to hide his laughter behind his hand, and Jordan's mouth twists up into a wry smile as he tries to hold back a laugh. "It's not funny."

"No, it's not," Virgil agrees, but he's laughing openly now. Jordan dips his head to hide his grin.

"God, I missed you," Jordan breathes suddenly. He wouldn't have said it except for the crack that opened up in his chest. He needs to relieve some of the pressure. "I miss how you made me feel."

"How did I make you feel?" Virgil asks, watching him intently. 

"Young. Whether I was barely 18 or 23, you just made me feel young. I could be silly with you, 'cause we'd be silly together. You made me laugh. You didn't tell me to stop being immature - you encouraged it," Jordan says, hanging his head. He's trying not to think about all the times Will has told him to grow up. "And loved. Over the five years we were together - even the last year, when we were going through a rough patch about me moving - and when we weren't even together after… you know. You told me you loved me every single day, and that was really special to me. I felt like the only person in the world."

"You're the only person that matters," Virgil says softly, and Jordan doesn't miss the use of the present tense.

"I mean - Will makes me feel good too," Jordan says quickly, panicking a little bit. "Or I wouldn't- I wouldn't be marrying him. I love him."

"But we were different," Virgil says, nodding. "We were a once in twenty lifetimes kind of love."

"Yeah," Jordan breathes.

That's one thing he can't deny.

They lapse into silence, but it’s a comfortable one. The only sound is their cutlery clinking against the plates, but Jordan keeps glancing up and catching Virgil’s eye and the tiny smile that's etched onto his face. 

When he's done, he takes Virgil's plate and shoves them onto the floor. It's not something he'd usually do - although he wouldn't usually eat in bed - but the thought of any second spent away from Virgil makes his heart hurt. 

"When do I need to leave?" Virgil asks quietly. He sounds regretful.

Jordan considers it for a moment.

"Will won't be back for a few days," he says quietly, looking down at his hands. Everything in his entire being is telling him to stop Virgil from leaving. He doesn’t know if he can go through it again. "So it's up to you."

"And if it wasn't?" Virgil asks.

"Then I'd want you to stay until the very last second," Jordan says, surprised by how firm his voice is and how much he means it. "If it was up to me."

Virgil just smiles, but that's all the answer Jordan needs.

.

Jordan rolls over and pillows his head on Virgil's chest. They've not actually gotten out of bed since breakfast, and normally he'd think that was kind of disgusting (Will's voice is a distant memory in his head telling him not to be lazy), but he likes being wrapped up with Virgil. They've made their very own cocoon just for them and nobody can break it.

"Do you remember that time you picked me up from work and took me on a surprise holiday?" He asks, throwing a leg across Virgil's thighs. "Had all the bags packed and everything."

"Oh! When we went Brighton?" Virgil says, grinning wickedly. He curls an arm around Jordan's shoulders and tugs him in even closer. "God, how could I forget Brighton?"

Jordan smirks, hides it in Virgil's skin.

"The car broke down on the M23 and it took hours for the AA to come rescue us," Jordan says. "That car was fucking awful."

"All we could afford though, wasn't it?" Virgil says, looking up at the ceiling. "I'll never forget you sitting in the passenger seat crying your eyes out for two hours like the little drama queen you are."

"I thought we were going to die!" Jordan protests, but he backs down a bit when Virgil kisses his temple. Only a bit, though. "That road is _so_ busy and it was getting dark."

"Well, we got there in the end," Virgil says, tutting slightly.

"Yes, and the hotel room you'd booked looked like it was straight out of the fifties," Jordan huffs. "Probably hadn't been cleaned since then, either."

"You can't blame me for that - you looked at the pictures and agreed that it was completely different," Virgil says.

"Still the best holiday of my life, though," Jordan whispers, tracing patterns up and down Virgil's chest. "Wouldn't change a second of it."

"Isn't there a picture of you on the wall downstairs in Bali?" Virgil asks, frowning. Jordan flushes bright red because he knows exactly which one Virgil means - one of him and Will standing on the beach at sunset, looking like the loved up couple they are. He's still embarrassed by it. Virgil shouldn't have to see that.

"Not exactly sunny Brighton though, is it?" Jordan says, trying to deflect. "You bought me chicken nuggets every night and sucked me off on the beach at two in the morning that one night. What could be better than that?"

"Oh, so it was just the sex, was it?" Virgil says dramatically, falling back against the mattress with a sigh. He tickles Jordan's side but only for a minute, then smiles at his giggles. "I'll remember that for next time."

_Next time_.

That hurts to think about.

Virgil goes quiet, but it's the kind of silence that Jordan can't stand. Suffocating and thick.

"You were my best friend, you know," he says quietly, tangling their fingers together. Their joined hands rest on Virgil's stomach. "You still are. Nobody's ever come close to you. Nobody makes me laugh as much as you. Nobody lets me get away with half as much shit as you do. Nobody can cheer me up as well as you do. So yeah. You're still my best friend."

"Me too," Virgil breathes. He sounds choked up and his eyes are wet. Jordan wants to kiss him, so he does. "I might have moved on, but that doesn't mean I ever got over you. You never believed me when I told you back then, but I loved you more than I ever thought I had the capacity for. I wasn't lying."

"I know," Jordan whispers, because if there's anything this past twenty four hours has taught him, it's that Virgil really did feel the same way. He hates how relieved he is by it.

“You changed me, J,” Virgil says, stroking his cheek gently with the backs of his fingers. “Even when we’re not together – you make me. I’m so grateful for that, because you’ve turned me into the person I am today. Thank you.” 

“You make me too,” Jordan whispers, and stretches across to kiss Virgil. They trade sweet little kisses for what could be hours. Jordan can’t tell. 

The only thing he knows is that he’s happy.

.

Jordan stretches out across the bed just to feel Virgil’s hands on him. He knows what he’s doing and it works, because Virgil’s hands slide greedily across his stomach, palms hot and fingers curling tight.

“You are so beautiful,” Virgil whispers. Jordan isn’t wearing much more than his pants because it’s his house and he doesn’t have to, but Virgil is fully dressed in joggers and a t-shirt. He looks incredible in Jordan’s clothes – they’re slightly too small for him, sitting just above his ankles, and the t-shirt is stretched tight across his shoulders – and he smells incredible too. Jordan forgot what it felt like to see Virgil like this. “Want you.”

“Yeah?” Jordan breathes, grinning up at Virgil. The younger man hovers over him, looming so big that Jordan feels like he’s trapped. He loves the feeling, loves knowing Virgil’s strong arms are pinning him down. “What you gonna do about it?”

“What do you want?” Virgil counters. He catches Jordan’s mouth in a slow, deep kiss that makes his toes curl. “What doesn’t he give you?”

“He gives me everything I want,” Jordan says, bristling under Virgil’s words. Somewhere in his head, a voice is telling him _he gives you nothing you want_ , but he pushes that away. 

“Hm,” Virgil hums, biting at Jordan’s neck. He rolls the skin between his teeth until it leaves a mark, and Jordan doesn’t have the heart to tell him to stop. “I guess we’ll see about that, won’t we?”

Jordan has to admit that he’s a little excited about the prospect.

Virgil grips his thighs and pushes his legs apart roughly, until there's enough space that he can settle into. Jordan can feel the outline of his dick, pressing hot and hard already, even through the layers of material. It makes his mouth water, grin threatening to take over his whole face.

"What have you got to smile about?" Virgil asks, bringing a hand up to grip his jaw almost painfully. Jordan shudders, melting into Virgil’s body.

"You tell me," Jordan whispers, straining to tilt his head up eagerly. He's desperate for Virgil to kiss him, and he acts like he won't indulge him, but then he finally dips his head down and fits their mouths together. 

The kiss is hot, forceful. Virgil doesn't move his hand away but he does drive his hips down, and Jordan lets out a desperate little gasp into Virgil's mouth. He's so turned on it hurts, just from a hand on his face and a kiss. He has no idea how to deal with whatever Virgil has in store for him.

"You'll have to wait and see," Virgil murmurs, and it's only then that Jordan realises he spoke that last thought out loud. 

Virgil is so delicate when his hands trail down Jordan's body. He stops to brush the tips of his fingers over his nipple, and then moves his hand to the centre of Jordan's chest. He traces a finger down the line of muscle there and keeps going, until he's scratching through the line of hair that disappears under his boxers. 

"Missed this," Virgil whispers, biting harshly at Jordan's collarbone. He cries out, spine arching to get some friction from Virgil's body, but the younger man moves away so they don't touch. It makes Jordan's skin hurt, the longing. "Haven't you?"

"Yes," Jordan breathes, swallowing roughly. He squeezes his eyes shut tightly as Virgil licks over the bruise he left and clutches at his shoulders. "So much."

Virgil hums, mouth closing around Jordan's nipple. 

"Good boy," he whispers and then his hand finally slips into Jordan's boxers and his fist closes around his dick.

Jordan lets out a whine, needy and pathetic. They've had plenty of sex since that first time and Jordan's not exactly been starved for it, but there's something different about this. He'd been wondering, this whole time, when Virgil was going to shove him around, make him beg for what he wants. He'd been wondering but also _praying_. He needs it - just a taste of it.

"God, you're so hard already," Virgil whispers, sounding awed. He rubs his palm over the head to wet it and then jacks his fist leisurely, ignoring the quiet little curses Jordan is letting out. He's going at his own pace, because he knows how it makes Jordan feel. "Been thinking about this, have you?"

"No," Jordan manages to bite out, but it’s a complete and utter lie. 

"No?" Virgil breathes, kissing Jordan's neck. He rubs his palm over the head of his dick again. "You haven't thought about me pinning you down? About my fingers on your skin? About my cock, pressing inside you? You haven't thought about me making you wait to come, until it hurts and you're begging?"

"No," Jordan lies again.

He thinks about it every day.

"Well," Virgil says conversationally, tongue swiping against the hard bristles on Jordan's jaw. "Best make sure you can't forget about it, then."

Jordan breathes out a laugh, half excited and half disbelieving. He thought he’d never get this again – Virgil’s mouth on his, hot and wet. Teeth scraping at his skin, biting down hard enough to leave bruises. The harsh roll of his hips and his hard dick hot even through his clothes, making Jordan want _more_.

It’s never enough. 

Virgil lets go of his dick but bites down on his throat, right where the skin is thin and his pulse throbs, and he can’t help but toss his head back and let out a groan. It feels incredible, like his whole body is on fire. Will never makes him feel like this, but Jordan doesn’t think anybody ever could. Virgil knows him, his needs and his wants, intrinsically, and he’s not afraid to give them to him. 

“Take your boxers off,” he whispers, but his tongue is still soothing over the spot he bit. Jordan’s trapped underneath the broad expanse of his shoulders but he loves it, clings on as tight as he can. It must hurt, his nails on Virgil’s skin, but the younger man doesn’t let it show. He kisses him chastely, and then pulls away completely. The shock of cold air makes Jordan shiver. “Take your boxers off, Jordan.”

He climbs off the bed completely and stands to the side, but his eyes are still dark and scruitinising every detail on Jordan’s body. He’s watching, waiting, hands behind his back and dick straining against the material of his joggers. 

Jordan grins and gives him what he wants.

He hooks his thumbs underneath the waistband of his boxers and pushes them down his hips tantalisingly slowly. Virgil’s tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip and he lets out a harsh breath, gaze flicking back up to Jordan’s face for a moment before settling again.

“Keep going,” he says, voice low and rough. It’s been a long time since Jordan heard that tone coming from him.

He pushes them further down, over the base of his dick. The friction makes him stop in his tracks, groaning, but Virgil’s quiet swearing still cuts through the fog. He carries on until his dick springs free and he can shove them down his thighs, kicking them off and to the side.

Virgil still doesn’t move, so he curls his fist around his dick and jacks it leisurely. He just needs to take the edge off.

“Stop,” Virgil spits, voice so forceful that Jordan has to do what he says. His hand falls to the side and he looks up with wide, wet eyes. “You’re not allowed to touch yourself. Do you understand me?” 

Jordan nods, mouth dry with how turned on he is.

“Use your words,” Virgil snaps.

“Yes, fuck – yes,” Jordan breaths, springing back into the real world. “I understand.”

“Good boy,” Virgil hums appreciatively. He takes a step closer until his knees are brushing against the edge of the mattress, but his hands are still behind his back. “On your knees, come on.” 

Jordan does as he’s told and climbs until he’s on his knees. He’s still considerably shorter than Virgil at full length, but that just adds to the experience. His heart is pounding and his tongue feels too big for his mouth, but Virgil looks at him like he’s perfect.

“Hands behind your back, sweetheart,” Virgil says kindly. He’s only ever this sweet when they’re in this position (and by that, Jordan means with Virgil towering over him, telling him what move he’s going to make next). He does as he’s told because he wants to hear that voice again. “God, look at you, aren’t you beautiful?”

He can’t help but flush red under the praise, cheeks burning hot as he dips his head. He lets the words wash over him, strengthening the line of his shoulders as he holds onto his own wrists. Nothing could ever make him feel as good as this.

“Listen to me –– you’re not allowed to come until I say you are, okay?” Virgil says. That kind tone is still there, and he places two fingers under Jordan’s chin to lift his head up. “You can do that, can’t you? Are you going to hold on for me? Because you know how it ends if you can do it. I know you haven’t forgotten.”

“I remember,” Jordan breathes quickly. There’s no way he could forget.

Virgil smiles, sweet and wide. Dimples form in his cheeks. 

“You’re so good for me, baby,” he says, taking a full hold of Jordan’s chin. The tips of his fingers press bruises into his jaw but his thumb comes up to brush gently over his bottom lip. “I’m so glad you haven’t changed. Couldn’t bear it.”

Jordan feels a shiver ripple down his spine and he tilts his head up for a kiss, but Virgil doesn’t oblige. Instead, he hooks his thumb over Jordan’s bottom teeth and drags his mouth open, holding him there for a moment like he’s just enjoying the view.

There’s something more to it, though. There always is with Virgil.

He’s looming over Jordan. That’s the only way to describe it. 

He smiles once, just briefly, and then his tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip. His other hand comes out to tangle in Jordan’s hair and he pulls his head back until his throat feels stretched, bare, _vulnerable_. His touch is so gentle but so rough, and Jordan isn’t sure how one man can be such a contradiction.

He’s expecting Virgil to kiss him. That’s what he expects, but instead – Virgil _spits in his mouth_.

It’s completely and entirely new. They’ve never done this before but suddenly Jordan doesn’t know _why_ they’ve never done this before, because it might be a tiny bit disgusting but also –– Jordan feels claimed. It’s like Virgil is marking his territory. 

Virgil kisses him straight after. Moves this thumb but keeps his hand on Jordan’s jaw, kissing him like he’s fucking him. Forceful, tongue hot and wet, making sure Jordan knows what’s going on. Jordan gasps for breath, and all he gets is the taste of Virgil’s mouth.

“Who do you belong to?” Virgil asks. His voice is hard.

There's a chanting in Jordan's head: _you. You. You_.

He doesn't say that, though.

"Will," Jordan manages to gasp out, after a long, thick silence. It's a complete lie but he has to say it, he _has_ to. "I belong to Will."

Virgil's palm hits his cheek so suddenly he's not sure it even happened. He's taken most of the force from it and it doesn't hurt at all, but the sound is loud, echoing across the room, and he knows it's going to leave a red mark.

"Wrong answer," he spits, and Jordan's dick leaks.

There’s a long, pregnant pause where neither of them say anything. It’s a stalemate – they maintain eye contact the entire time but neither of them waver, unblinking and unmoving. Virgil cracks first, and Jordan considers it a victory.

“On all fours,” he says, voice still hard but slightly more deflated than before. Jordan swallows the lump in his throat. He wants _his_ Virgil back.

He does as he’s told in a desperate hope that that’s what he’ll get. 

The bed dips as Virgil climbs on, kneeling on the mattress behind Jordan. He smooths his hand over the curve of Jordan’s arse gently and presses a kiss to the base of his spine.

“I love you,” he whispers, voice choked off. Tears spring to Jordan’s eyes but he hangs his head and pushes them back.

“I can’t ––” Jordan manages to get out. The rest of the words won’t come.

“I know,” Virgil says, but he sounds broken. He clears his throat and suddenly snaps back into it, tightening his hand around Jordan’s hip before sitting back on his heels. “Lube. Where's the lube?"

"Don't… don't use it," Jordan stammers out nervously. His cheeks are flaming red. "I want to feel it. I want to feel _you_."

Virgil's breathing goes shallow for a second and then he nods, forehead pressed against Jordan's back. He drapes himself over the length of the older man's body and settles his chin in the crook of his shoulder. He's _heavy_ , and Jordan's holding the entirety of his weight, arms shaking and thighs aching, but none of that matters when Virgil brings a hand up to push three fingers into his mouth.

He’s sweating where the material of Virgil’s t-shirt and joggers is pressed against him but it only makes him feel even better. He feels vulnerable, like this – completely naked and bare while Virgil is fully dressed and has all the control. 

He’s the only person Jordan would ever give up control to.

Virgil pushes his fingers in and out of his mouth like he’s fucking him, rough and unrelenting. He gags, a little bit, but that just makes him groan, especially when Virgil gets a fist in his hair and pulls his head back. The sensations are overwhelming: the calluses of Virgil’s fingertips against his tongue, the harsh, heated breaths he’s letting out against Jordan’s skin, the way his dick is dragging heavy against the crease of his arse.

Virgil is everywhere, and he’s loving every second of it.

He pulls his fingers out roughly and Jordan feels his jaw start to ache faintly, in desperation. His dick hurts, physically aches, but he knows he can’t touch himself. He tries to push down against the sheets just to feel any friction at all, but Virgil grips his hips and pulls him back up.

“Stay still,” he instructs, keeping one hand on Jordan’s skin while he traces a line down Jordan’s arse with the other. He presses the pad of his index finger against his hole and then pushes his finger up to the knuckle without much warning. Jordan jumps away, but Virgil’s hand on his hip keeps him in place.

Virgil pulls away and sits back on his heels so he can get a better view. Jordan shivers without his heat, goosebumps scattered over his skin.

"You're so tight," Virgil says, awed. Jordan keens under the sound of his voice. "Doesn't he fuck you, baby?"

Jordan bristles, buries his face in the crook of his elbow, and doesn't say a word.

"He doesn't," Virgil says quietly, realisation dawning on him. He slips another finger in with no fuss, rubbing the tips against Jordan’s prostate like he's trying to prove a point. "You top, don't you? You fuck him?"

"I don't see how that's any of your business," Jordan mutters through gritted teeth, pressing his forehead hard against his arm.

"It is my business - it's my business to know if you're getting what you need," Virgil says quietly. He places his palm, gentle, on the curve of Jordan's arse, and pulls away to slap the muscle gently. "You're a work of art. It's a damn shame."

Jordan bites his lip to stifle a sob. He's already shaking, and it's doubled when Virgil presses his fingers harshly against Jordan's prostate.

"I don't want anyone other than you to give me what I need," he says eventually, voice wobbling. It’s the most truthful he’s ever been.

Virgil hums and removes his fingers, wiping them against the sheets. Fists his other hand in Jordan's hair, and pulls until Jordan physically has to follow, sitting up on his knees, throat pulled taught. Virgil bites his neck harshly and then licks over the spot. "Come with me," he whispers, as if he's giving Jordan a choice. "I want to show you something."

He pauses for a second, just to kiss Jordan – the angle is awkward because Virgil is still behind him and still has a grip on his hair, but it’s different to what he was expecting. It’s nice, not at all harsh. Sweet, _gentle_ , even. Jordan melts back into his chest, heart beating a pretty pattern against his ribs. 

And then it’s over. He manhandles Jordan until he’s standing on shaky knees, gripping onto him so tight that he’ll leave bruises in the shape of fingerprints. Jordan already can’t wait to look at them, brush his fingers over them, feel the faint ache when he’s pressing down. That’s all he’s thinking about when Virgil leads him to the bathroom.

“Take a look at yourself,” Virgil whispers. When Jordan looks up, he meets the younger man’s eyes in the mirror: pupils inky black, mouth bitten red, cheeks flushed. His chest aches with something he doesn’t want to put a name to, and he takes a deep breath.

His own eyes are impossibly dark, lips swollen and cheeks glowing red, and his hair is a mess – even worse when Virgil slides his fingers into it again. His chest heaves with every breath he takes and his dick is curved proudly upwards, and tears spring to his eyes. He finally feels like himself again.

“So beautiful,” Virgil murmurs, loosening his grip on Jordan’s hair. He slides his other hand down his side, over his hip and then onto his arse, massaging the muscle gently for a minute. Jordan takes the time to catch his breath again, gulping in air. “My gorgeous boy. Watch yourself.”

Jordan does what he’s told, keeping his eyes on the way his Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows. He’s too busy trying to focus on himself, to stop himself from coming, to pay attention to what Virgil is doing – and he jumps when he finds slide back inside, immediately pressing harsh against his prostate.

“Fuck,” he swears, broken and desperate. His head tilts back as he tries to stop the tears, resting against Virgil’s collarbone, and the younger man slides a hand up and around his throat. He doesn’t press hard, or at all, but his fingers wrap around the skin and it makes him feel _safe_. Nobody could ever look after him like Virgil does. 

“Look at yourself,” Virgil whispers, but it’s not harsh or demanding. It’s strict enough that Jordan does as he’s told, head falling back into a normal position, and he meets his own gaze. Nothing really changes, until Virgil slides a third finger in and the burn makes his skin grow a shade redder. 

He likes it. He likes the way it feels, a stinging sensation cut through the pleasure. It reminds him that this is real, he’s here in Virgil’s arms and Virgil is the one making him feel like this. It’s _special_.

“Nobody else can make you feel like this, Jordan,” Virgil says, tucking his face into Jordan’s neck. He keeps his gaze on Jordan’s face, but his breath is hot against his skin. “How many times have you told me that? Is it still true?”

“Yes,” Jordan whispers, before he can stop the word coming out. Virgil’s eyes grow even more serious, and he kisses his neck. 

Virgil opens his mouth, and for half a second, Jordan thinks he’s going to say it: _I love you_.

_I love you too_ is on the tip of his tongue, begging to come out.

Instead, Virgil hesitates, then flinches away.

“Come on,” he whispers, hand sliding round to grip the back of Jordan’s neck. He pulls his fingers out and leads him away from the mirror. “I’m going to fuck you now.”

Jordan can’t concentrate again until they’re back in the bedroom. His mind is fogged over, dominated by Virgil, and he doesn’t know how to even begin to think about anything else. Virgil’s name is on repeat, in his heartbeat, thudding in his ears until there’s nothing left. He doesn’t want anything else – just Virgil.

He lets himself be manhandled onto the bed, laying back against the sheets with his legs spread. He expects Virgil to settle between them, but instead, he stands back up, knees pressed against the edge of the mattress like he’s getting as close as he possibly can. He looks down at Jordan and grins. 

"Enjoying yourself?" He whispers, hooking his thumbs over the waistband of his joggers. Jordan doesn't think he needs to take his clothes off - the outline of his dick pressing against the material is obscene enough as it is. His mouth waters at the sight.

"Yes," Jordan breathes, curling his fingers into fists. He digs his nails into his palms so hard they carve crescent nails into his skin, because he's so turned on it hurts. He wants to touch someone - himself, Virgil. It doesn't matter anymore.

Virgil's mouth quirks up into a smile. It's more of a smirk, really, and he drags the joggers over his hips, kicking them off quickly. Jordan takes back what he said - he's even better like this, dick spreading a wet patch on his boxers where the head is leaking, and Jordan's thighs fall further apart of their own accord. He wants, wants _so bad_. He's never, ever wanted anyone like this.

The younger man wrestles his t-shirt over his head and Jordan's mouth parts at the sight of his hardened nipples, his flushed chest. He's gasping for breath and he's not even done anything - he just wants Jordan that much. It's so much, so fucking much, to see him standing there in nothing but his boxers, staring at Jordan with dark, dangerous eyes.

"Please," Jordan whispers, just because he knows it'll get a reaction.

Virgil snaps back into action and doesn't waste any time in pushing his boxers down his hips, curling his hand around his dick and pumping his fist a few times. Jordan lets out a harsh breath, but then he doesn't have time to do anything else, because Virgil settles in the gap between his legs like he never left.

Like he belongs.

"Love you so much," Virgil whispers, curling his hand around Jordan's cheek. He tips their foreheads together and kisses him, rocking his hips against Jordan’s gently. It's so teasing, so much but still not enough, and Jordan gasps, bearing down desperately.

He swallows, watching with a dry mouth as Virgil spits into his palm and curls it around his dick, and then he can't watch anymore. He closes his eyes, head pressed back against the mattress, and waits (im)patiently.

"Are you okay? Ready?" Virgil asks, tucking his face into Jordan's neck. He kisses the thin skin there, teeth grazing over his pulse point, but his breaths are shaky and his hands aren't quite steady. Jordan's glad he's not the only one affected by this.

"Was born ready," Jordan gasps, trying to laugh it off. Virgil presses the head of his dick against Jordan's hole and wipes the smile right off his face.

"If it gets too much," Virgil whispers, gasping against Jordan's mouth. He's rocking back and forth like he wants to push all the way in but is stopping himself, and really, Jordan appreciates the self restraint he's showing. "Then you'll just have to put up with it."

And then he presses forward, until he's bottomed out and the stretch is making Jordan's eyes water.

Virgil kisses him through it, hand on his face and tongue forceful. He tangles his fingers in Jordan's hair and grips tight until he has to kiss back, corner of his eyes wet and breaths shuddering through his chest as sobs. 

He still feels more loved than Will has ever made him feel.

"That's it," Virgil murmurs, releasing his grip on Jordan's hair to slide his hand down his face and hold his chin tight. It hurts, the tips of his fingers biting into the skin painfully, but it goes straight to Jordan's dick. "You're so good for me, baby. Such a good boy."

Jordan snakes his arms around Virgil's neck and holds on tight, closing his eyes. He just wants to focus on this moment, on the right here and right now, and it's even easier when Virgil lets go of his chin and brushes the backs of his fingers against his cheek. Virgil kisses the corner of his mouth gently.

"Remember what I said," Virgil says, kissing him properly. "You're not allowed to come until I say so. Okay?"

"Okay," Jordan agrees quickly. He can't stand to wait another second.

Virgil rocks his hips shallowly, barely moving but enough that Jordan can feel it. He’s already hypersensitive, skin itching, dick aching, and this feels even better. He clutches Virgil close to his body just because he doesn’t know what else to do.

“I love you,” Virgil whispers, lips sliding against Jordan’s cheek. He pulls back and starts to thrust a little deeper, still moving tantalisingly slowly. “I love you so much that you’re all I think about. When I’m laying in bed on a dark, cold night, you’re the only person I want by my side. I want to hear you laugh, to be the one that makes you smile. I want to be the person that your face lights up when you see me, when you think about me. I want you to miss me when I’m gone. I want you to gasp my name when you come, and wake up thinking about me.”

His thrusts are deeper now, dick pressing right against Jordan’s prostate. Sparks of pleasure melt his spine, and he doesn’t realise he’s crying until Virgil kisses the wet tracks on his cheeks.

“I want that too,” he sobs, because it’s the truth and he can’t hold it back anymore. It’s threatening to burst right out of his chest, making a mess of everything. It’s easier if he just lets it happen. “I want that, I want _you_.”

Virgil pauses. The lack of movement drives Jordan insane.

“You’ve got me,” he whispers, curving his hand around Jordan’s cheek. His thumb dries the tears. “I am yours, Jordan. Nobody else’s.”

“And I’m yours,” Jordan stumbles out desperately. Now he’s spoken the truth, he can’t bring himself to stop. Betrayal is a very, very distant thought at the back of his mind. “I belong to you. I always have. I’m _yours_.”

He thinks Virgil’s eyes are shining wetly, but he can’t quite tell.

Virgil is fucking him properly now, driving his hips in a way that makes Jordan feel crazy. He’s restless, nails scratching at Virgil’s back, and he gasps, pushing back to meet him. His skin is on fire and his cheeks are wet and he’s letting out a sob on every other thrust and he wants to come, he wants to come so bad, has wanted to since Virgil first laid a hand on him but he knows he can’t.

He knows he can’t, so he holds it back and ignores the fact he feels like he’s going to die.

“So fucking proud of you,” Virgil whispers, holding his face gently. It’s a complete juxtaposition to the way his hips are moving. “So proud of everything you’ve become. Knew you would, with or without me – just wish I could’ve been there to see it.”

The tears spill over Jordan’s cheeks even faster, and he can’t find the words to reply.

“You are the best friend I’ve ever had,” Virgil carries on, moving his hand up to brush Jordan’s hair off his sweaty forehead. He pauses to kiss the older man, grounding Jordan for a second. “I’ve never, ever met anyone like you, J. Nobody’s ever made me feel the way you do. Nobody’s loved me like you do. I miss you every second of every day. I love you so much, Jordan. _I love you_.”

There’s a heavy, deafening silence for a second, and Jordan can’t bear it.

“I love you too,” he chokes out, broken and wet. He means every word of it, and he can’t hold it back. “I love you.” 

Virgil breathes out heavily, holding Jordan close to his chest. “Good boy,” Virgil whispers, stroking his hair. He drops a dry kiss on his cheek, nuzzling his nose against his temple. “God, you’re so good. I’m so proud of you, baby. You can come now, sweetheart. Come for me, Jordan.”

Jordan doesn’t need much encouragement. He comes, untouched.

Virgil fucks him through it, but he feels like he’s on a different planet. His vision has blacked out and his skin is tingling. He can still feel Virgil, though – every movement feels like heaven.

He feels it when Virgil’s hips freeze, he hears it when he lets out a low, drawn groan, and he feels it when Virgil bites down on his throat.

He’s glad he’s not the only one that’s struggling to cope with this.

“Fuck,” Virgil whispers quietly, raspy and pressed against Jordan’s throat. He’s coming down, and so is Jordan, but he still shivers when Virgil puts a hand on his skin. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Jordan breathes, somehow managing to prise his eyes open. He looks up at the ceiling and then at Virgil’s reddened face. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Virgil murmurs, sliding his hand up to cup Jordan’s cheek. He kisses him gently, like he knows he’s delicate and about to shatter like glass. He seems to know everything Jordan wants, even when Jordan himself doesn’t seem to know. That’s what it’s like having a soulmate, though. 

He feels so awfully empty when Virgil pulls out and he bites his lip to stifle a sob. It’s even worse when the younger man rolls off him and disappears to the bathroom, but he comes back clutching a washcloth and is so, so gentle when he cleans Jordan up. He doesn’t even make it back into the bathroom, just drops the cloth on the floor and slides back under the duvet.

“How are you feeling?” He asks quietly, brushing a strand of hair off of Jordan’s face. Jordan rolls over so his head is cushioned on Virgil’s chest.

“Amazing,” he admits, closing his eyes. The back and forth of Virgil’s fingers sweeping through his hair is making him fall asleep. “I know what you did, Virgil.”

“What?” Virgil asks, playing dumb, but he knows. They both do.

“I know that you were just breaking me down so I told you I love you,” Jordan whispers, tracing patterns on the soft, bare skin of Virgil’s chest.

Virgil goes quiet, because he knows he’s been caught.

“Did you mean it?” He asks. “When you said it, did you mean it?” 

“Yeah,” Jordan says, the ghost of an admission. He’s surprised to find that he doesn’t feel guilty about it. He feels guilty about his lack of guilt, though.

“Then it doesn’t matter, does it?” Virgil says. There’s a long, heavy silence, and then Virgil sighs. “I just needed to hear it. I needed to know how you felt. Because I knew that if you didn’t say it, then you really didn’t feel it anymore. I love you. I’ve always loved you, and I’ll always love you in the future. I was scared of finding out you didn’t feel the same.”

“Well I do,” Jordan says, pressing a kiss to the skin that stretches over Virgil’s heart. “I do feel the same. And now you know.”

Jordan hopes he never forgets.

.

When Virgil raised his eyebrows and asked about the possibility of a shower in that long, drawn out low tone of his, Jordan jumped at the chance.

What he didn't expect was this.

Virgil curls a hand around his neck and kisses him, hauntingly delicate. It makes something in Jordan's chest squeeze painfully tight and he recognises the feeling straight away.

It's goodbye.

"I love you," Jordan murmurs, muffled by the way he buries his face in Virgil’s chest. Now he's said it, he can't quite bring himself to stop. He's never meant anything more. "I love you more than I've ever loved anyone in my entire life."

"Don’t be daft," Virgil says, but his voice is thick and he sounds like he can't quite believe it. "I'm nothing special."

"You are," Jordan says quickly, looking up at Virgil's face. He watches the younger man swallow, Adam's apple bobbing with the movement. "You are so, so special, and I am _so_ sorry things aren't different. If they were, if we could ––"

"I know," Virgil says soothingly, pressing a kiss to Jordan’s temple. The water is still pounding against their skin but Jordan can’t quite bring himself to care. He’s never – despite the awful, empty ache in his chest – been as content as he is in this moment. He’d live here forever, if he could. “I know, baby.”

And that’s just it. They know, but they can’t do anything about it.

Jordan thinks of the engagement ring that’s tucked in the back of his nightstand drawer and _hates_ it, suddenly.

Everything he’s got with Will – he doesn’t want it anymore.

Because he wants it with Virgil instead.

He doesn’t know how he ever got this so, so wrong, but it doesn’t matter anymore.

And that’s the sad truth of it.

.

Jordan risks looking over at Virgil. He’s still in the same position he was ten minutes ago, the last time Jordan looked – on his back, staring at the ceiling, eyes so unflinchingly wide that they must be aching.

“I’m sorry,” Jordan says, just to break the awfully thick silence.

“Me too,” Virgil sighs, finally closing his eyes. He opens them again a moment later and holds his hand out for Jordan to take.

He tangles their fingers together and holds their joined hands against his chest, making sure the back of Virgil's hand is right over his heart. He's wondering if he can feel it breaking.

"I love you so much," he sighs, running his thumb over the bumps of Virgil's knuckles. He doesn't know how he's going to get over this. "Do you think people who love each other can be friends? Like, proper, actual friends who make plans and don't fuck things up?"

"No," Virgil says, completely and utterly honest. Jordan's heart drops, shatters into pieces, and Virgil seems to notice and kisses his hand. "Because we've never managed to not fuck things up. But I want to try, J. You make me want to try."

"Okay," Jordan whispers. He rolls onto his side, still clutching onto Virgil's hand, so close that his chest brushes against Virgil's arm. "Friends?"

"Friends," Virgil agrees, kissing Jordan. It's not what friends do, but they've never been normal.

And things will never be normal again.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr @ [georginiwijnaldum](https://georginiwijnaldum.tumblr.com/) xo


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